the making of:

January 24, 2013 § Leave a comment

it fell, fell

and it closed as it fell

like an eggshell reversing its fate

 

don’t tell me

softly was involved the last word

 

the colours came up and welcomed in

a face or nine, my face, or none

 

it came down, down

and it treasured the ground with its fullness

of sound

and it left, hard

and it carried my mind like a fracture of kind

as it left

La paura nell’aria

January 11, 2013 § Leave a comment

where I am is where it is: Africa in whispers

where I am is where it sleeps: mountain softly sunless

without romance, the poets carry on as human birds

blind eye, blind faith in reading here- the mountains

Where Am I?

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